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Games I have (all gift links)
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My Wishlist (kind of the order of preference)
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submitted by Odontella to indiegameswap

The Carry-On Kids: Part Two - The Twins

The Carry-On Kids: Part One - The Tape
As I sit in my front seat, looking at the rising, morning sun from the horizon in my driver’s side mirror, I wonder how I got here. Not in the parking lot of a Motel 6. But, here. In the middle of this mess. Halfway obsessed and two steps from insanity. Part of me wishes I had never found the tape. That I had just gone on living as Drew Williamson, blissfully unaware of the iceberg of lies below me. This month could have been filled with football, hot chocolate, and a warm fireplace. Instead, I’ve driven over 4,000 miles, exhausted almost all of my savings, and am about to walk into the building that started this whole shitshow. Awesome. So how’d I get here? I’ll fill you in.
After I found the tape, I figured it best not to make any rash decisions. Mistakes happen when people are emotional and impulsive. And I cannot make a mistake. A few days after I had gone out with Tyler and received my birthday gift, a 2015 Jeep Compass, I sat down at my laptop and tried to come up with a game-plan. I knew eventually I’d end up in Ashland. But that was 2600 miles away and I had no idea what to do when/if I got there. So I took to the internet. I looked up missing persons in Oregon, for the last 5 years, specifically searching for any record on Parker Hudson or Bryan and Paige Hudson. There were 2 Bryan Hudson’s in Oregon, 3 Paige Hudson’s, and no record of a Parker Hudson. I couldn't figure out if any of the Hudson’s I found are related or married as my research methods (Google) are limited. I also tried to look them up on Facebook. I could only find one Paige Hudson on Facebook who lived in Oregon and looked the appropriate age to be my mother. Her profile was locked so I sent her a friend request and hoped she accepted strangers.
A few days passed. It was difficult to wake up every morning and see them- kiss Janice goodbye, and tell them I love them. Because…well…I do love them. At least I think I do. They’re all I know, but I also know they're lying to me. I almost cracked at dinner one night. We were reminiscing about our last trip to Hershey Park, when the memory came flickering in like a movie. I saw Janice and Tyler holding my hands as we walked into the park. I saw us eating funnel cake and riding the spinning tea cups. I saw us laughing and Tyler throwing me up on his shoulders. It was like a highlight reel. No scenes of waiting in line behind a really fat guy, or spilling soda on my jeans. No begging my parents to let me on a ride too scary. Nothing that wasn't necessary. That’s when I knew it wasn't real-that it must have been put there. Memories aren't perfectly edited video packages ready to play at the utterance of a keyword. They’re messy and patched together. You remember little things. Like what color lipstick Katie Resskin had on when you square-danced in 4th grade. Or when you almost peed your pants on the bus ride home from the Smithsonian Institute field trip. Those are the things that make memories… memorable.
After that dinner, I knew it was time to leave. I left school the next day almost as soon as I got there. I didn't bother with a note. I knew it’d probably be awhile before I’d be back- if ever. My car skidded to a stop on my barely shoveled driveway. Tyler and Janice work all day and won’t even realize I’m gone until they get home around 6. I started unloading the boxes from “my parents” closet as quickly as I could and stacking them in my car. Six in the trunk, four in the backseat. I did one last sweep of the only home I can remember and snagged the tape I had placed back in the cubby hole. I had bought ten similar boxes a couple days ago to re-stack in the closet. It probably won't do much. They’ll come searching for me as soon as they realize I’m gone, but hopefully it’ll buy me some time until they figure out where I’m going. I tried to drop hints during the previous days about having trouble with kids in school. I didn’t. I also asked when we would be visiting Aunt Kim in Florida again. I hoped they’d think I had run away, but I didn't think they’d buy that. Tyler and Janice didn't seem that dumb. As I got out of my neighborhood, my city, and Pennsylvania, I slowly realized I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. A few more hours on the road and the shy winter sun was just about gone. I GPS’d a motel in West Virginia and decided I needed to get my shit together before I could carry on.
The curtains in my room had stains of brown over their dull yellow shade. The disgustingly cheap motel was, indeed, disgusting. I had strewn the boxes around me like numbers on a clock. My arms ticked around slowly. 1:12 p.m- a heap of papers that looked like a college research paper. Charts, financial statements, print outs of websites. There had to be 100 pages of research on each of, at least, eight different companies. It looked like two of the companies were adoption agencies, there were a few foster homes, orphanages, and a few that didn't really say what they were, but they looked like they did some kind of social work. None of the companies were based in Oregon. 2:24 p.m- CDs. 38 of them. They were labeled with dates from my first birthday all the way up to my 13th. I tried to play them in my laptop but an error message came up every time. I tried 17 of them before I gave up. I even tried to play a couple in my car but nothing happened. 3:36 p.m- a bunch of electronics that I didn't recognize. Wires were wrapped around all of them. One looked like my old Gameboy color but I couldn't figure out what it did. One looked like a 7th grade science fair project. Couldn't get it to turn on. I put them aside. 4:48 p.m- Old VCRs of my favorite kids movies. Mulan, Home Alone, Air Bud, etc. 6:00 p.m- Books that I’ve read. Dr. Seuss, Goosebumps, Nancy Drew. I used to think it was so cool that we had the same name. Not so cool anymore. 7:12 p.m- More papers. These didn't look like research though. They had a label in the corner of some kind of bird and the name printed on the top page of the stack: Relictio Inc. The first line on the paper was a confusingly long mission statement. 8:24 p.m- The 2x4 that held up the empty box. I forgot about that one. 9:36 p.m- Photos. There must have been thousands. Too many to look at all of them now. I grabbed a small stack from the top and flipped though them. It was mostly landscapes, pictures of my parents, and one of a boy I don't know. At least I think I don't know him. He was standing on the play-set in our backyard like I used to do. He looked happy. 10:48 p.m- Contracts. A large stack of them with the same label as the other papers in 7:12. 12:00 a.m- Yearbooks. Eight of them from kindergarten to 7th grade. I couldn't find myself though. I flipped through the first couple and I recognized everyone. Jimmy Laul, my best friend in 1st grade. Kristen Nestrel. She kissed me behind the 4-square court in 3rd grade. And Mrs. Keller. Mrs. Keller and the kindergarten olympics, but I was nowhere to be found. It took a minute to grasp, as to why I wasn't in any of these yearbooks. To understand that I had been right about my past…That it wasn't mine at all.
I sat with my back against the far wall of the motel room, looking at the circular mess of papers, books, and CDs in the middle of the floor. What did this all mean? There were so many things running through my head it was hard to keep everything straight. I had so many questions that I knew I couldn't answer on my own. Overwhelmed, I laid my head back against the wall and closed my eyes- waiting for it to be tomorrow.
“I don’t think my parents are my parents.” That was the name of the thread. That’s how I met the twins. I had spent the next morning combing the web for anything that could help. I researched Relictio Inc. but it only had a homepage and some generic pictures of people smiling. The webpage headline read: “Relictio. Bringing people together one case at a time.” That was basically it. There was one contact number but it required a valid credit card number to talk to the receptionist. Never seen that before. After striking out there, I tried seeing if this had happened to anyone else. It wasn't easy to find, but I stumbled upon a forum. A forum for unsolved mysteries, and the thread, “I don't think my parents are my parents.” The thread didn't have any responses, but the original poster had included a bit of info in the body:
hi, we’re Casey and Clark. we’re siblings. we ran away two months ago because our parents kidnapped us from our real parents. we can’t remember anything about our old parents but we know we weren't legally adopted. for proof, or if this happened to you, message us.
I immediately messaged them and tried to explain my situation as briefly as possible. I didn't want to give any personal info in case it was some sort of trap. I actually changed a bunch details but kept the basics the same. Tape. Not real parents. Files. Can’t remember anything. Send.
I received a response a few hours later. They wanted to meet in person. At their place. In Colorado.
I guess it was fine. Colorado was kind of on my way anyway. It took me three days to get there, stopping often for rest and food. There’s not much to say about those days. It was a lot of anticipation and anxiety, masked by my “road trippin” playlist. Eventually, I made it to their home, residing in the dusty, little town of Silverton. Population: 638. It was located in the back of town, far from the main street, in a wooded area. The house was almost a trailer- one story, one window on either side of the front door. As I parked and got out of my car, the feeling of being watched donned on me immediately. It was a creepy place in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors. No one nearby to hear me scream. I had been blinded by the thought that I might not be alone in this, and now I was probably going to be murdered by a psychopath on laptop. I thought about getting back in the car and driving- driving anywhere else. But my curiosity got the better of me- something I might need to keep in check from now on. I walked up to the quiet screen door and raised my fist to knock when- “Hey!” a voice yelled. I was grabbed by the neck and taken to the ground in one motion. My back hit the hard dirt and a stick snapped under my head. “Owww.” I moaned. When I opened my eyes, a young blonde girl was leaning over me, her hand still around my neck. “Who are you?” She said. Her hair hung in her face and flickered in front of the sun behind her. “Dre-Park-uhh…” Who was I? I didn't even know what name to say. “Spit it out!” “Parker! My name’s Parker! I messaged you guys about your thread!” I squeaked out. “Let him go, Clark.” A voice rang out as the screen door mockingly squeaked open. The hand released from my neck and a breath of Rocky Mountain air rushed into my lungs. The voice was attached to a guy, similar to the age of the girl standing over me. He walked over, extended a hand, and helped me up. I brushed myself off and adjusted my eyes to the pair in front of me. The girl was rough. Raggedy blonde hair, wearing dirty overalls, and had just taken me down with one hand. Cute face though. The guy wore tight, black jeans, a grey flannel, and stood just a hair taller than me. His shoulder-length, blonde hair was tied back in a man bun. He looked a lot like his sister. “Hi Parker. I’m Casey,” he reached out and shook my hand. “Looks like you've already met my twin sister Clark.” I nodded and smiled shyly. “You wanna go inside and talk?” I nodded again. “Cool. Come on in… Oh and don't worry about getting taken down by a girl. She’s a lesbian.” Clark glared at her brother. “I am not a lesbian…dick.”
We sat down at their small kitchen table, just big enough for 3 people to sit comfortably at. They only had two seats though so they pulled up a bucket for me and flipped it upside down. We got to talking and it wasn't long before we started piecing things together. We went over my entire story. Front to back. The tape, the boxes, the company. Everything. Then they told me their story. They ran away from a really nice neighborhood in Connecticut when they overheard their parents talking about their real parents. They said if the real parents found them, “the company would kill everyone.” They figured they were adopted from an early age since they looked nothing like their parents, but when they asked their parents about it, they got super defensive and told the kids to shut up with that nonsense. They called the hospital where their parents said they were born, but there was no record of them ever being born there. Apparently, for them, that was the last straw. They packed up a few days after their 18th birthday and drove west. They figured out their parents bank account info from their fathers briefcase and wire transferred $100,000 into a new account they set up. They figured since they were 18 and legally adults now, their parents couldn't get the police to do much. They don’t think they’re even looking for them anymore.
“So we’ve been on our own for a year now.” Casey took a sip of his coffee and placed it back in the condensation ring on the table. “And we’ve been digging ever since.” We all sat back and tried to process all the information running through our heads, looking for their proper spot in the puzzle. “Alright. Well what now?” Clark chimed in for the first time in the conversation. “Well, what do we know…?” Casey started to put pieces together as he talked. He pointed at me and continued, “Your tape mentioned Wiping and Implementation stages, meaning they probably have some sort of technology to wipe our previous memories and implement fake ones, which is most likely what the boxes of old yearbooks, children books, and movies are about. The CD’s are probably encrypted but I’m guessing its home movies or something. We don’t know for sure but given your tone on the tape, our parents probably kidnapped us…Unless our real parents gave us away…” He trailed off in thought, but regained it quickly. “We have to go through all these papers and find out where this Relictio Inc. is headquartered. If we can get all of this evidence organized we can go to the police and expose…whatever this is.” We all stared at the table, arms crossed, thinking for a while. “But…why us?” I said, mostly to myself, still staring at the table. Casey looked up at me and sighed. “I don’t know.”
Papers were everywhere. Scattered about the entire living room and flowing into the kitchen. So much for being organized. Two days and we still had nothing about Relictio Inc. It’s like they didn't exist. The contracts were so vague, it was impossible to decipher what exactly was being agreed upon, let alone prove that they fucked with our brains. It’s not like there was a “We removed every memory from their childhood and tricked them into living with their kidnappers” clause. We debated going to the police with what we had but it was a long-shot. There was nothing incriminating in sight. A bunch of old junk, some vague contracts, and three runaways accusing a unknown company of erasing their memory. Long-shot was the understatement of the century.
“If we could just find out where they’re headquartered…” Casey didn't finish his thought. Then I remembered the contact number on the website. I pulled out my wallet and credit card that Tyler got me for my 15th birthday. It was a risk. They could track it. They could triangulate my phone location and find Casey and Clark’s house. It could tip off my “parents” as to what I was doing and where I was going. It was also the only option at this point.
Ring-ring. “Hello, thank you for calling Relictio. This is Veronica speaking. Can I have your name please?” I was so thrown off. I should have come up with a plan before I rushed into it. “Hi, uh-my name is…uh… Jason Bour…neo.” Casey rolled his eyes and Clark face-palmed. I don’t know why my mind went straight to Jason Bourne. It was my favorite movie series, and I guess what we were doing was Bourne-esque. I tried to refocus. “Hello Jason. How can I help you today?” Veronica’s voice was soft and pleasant. I lowered my voice and tried to sound like a perspective client. “Yes. I was referred to your company by a close friend, and I’m interested in possibly enlisting your services.” I said with my chest puffed out. Clark and Casey’s faces turned into impressed upside-down frowns. “Okay great. We do have a lengthy acceptance process, as we are very selective with our clients. We also do not do any of the application procedure online so you will need to come in in person to continue the process. However, If you are still interested, we can set up a meeting with an advisor as early as next week.” I paused and looked at Casey and Clark who were now huddled by the phone, trying to hear. They nodded hastily. “Yes, that would be great, Veronica. Thank you.” “Wonderful. I have a slot open for 11 a.m. next Tuesday.” “Let’s book it…Oh and Veronica…” “Yes?” “Where are you guys located?” We looked at each other and held our breath waiting for an answer. “Your friend didn't tell you?” “Uhh no, I think he forgot.” My voice wavered from the obvious lie. “I’m sorry. We work on a strictly referral system, and cannot give out information over the phone. I suggest you talk to your friend more and give us a call back.” “Wait, Veronica. Veronica, please. I really need this. I can't risk losing this opportunity because my friend is absentminded. Please Veronica…” I closed my eyes and tensed up. I heard her sigh on the other line. The silence felt like an eternity. “…Do you have a pen?”
“Colorado?! Son of a bitch!” Casey yelled as I hung up the phone. “They were right under our noses the whole time!” “She didn't even give me an address- just directions.” I said as I held up the piece of paper I had just scribbled on. “This is so sketchy.” Clark chimed in while cracking open a beer from the fridge. We all looked at each other gravely. We didn't even have a plan for what we would do when we got there. It was clear we weren't old enough to be parents. Do we just storm in like Jon Taffer and yell, “Shut it down!?” Even if we were old enough, what would we do? Wear a wire? That seemed risky. These guys have obviously done some pretty horrible things. Who says they wouldn't just kill us if they found it.
We drank a lot that night- whiskey and beer. And spitballed ideas, many of which seemed much better than they did the next morning. I have to admit though, it was nice to let loose for a while. My stress level was at an all-time high. Record book status. We talked about sports, music, movies- everything really. We blasted some Third-Eye Blind, The Chainsmokers new EP, and danced. Clark was a surprisingly good dancer. She looks a lot different when she’s showered and not in overalls. Almost…sexy? She caught me sneaking side-glances at her a couple times that night. I think Casey could feel the tension as well. I distinctly remember him smiling and winking at me as Clark and I jammed out to a remix of the Beastie Boys. Felt like a “you have my blessing” wink. I could be way off though.
I also had a dream that night. I dreamt about my real parents. About what they looked like- what they sounded like. I dreamt about Casey and Clark running into the arms of their tearful parents. I also dreamt about a room. A dark, cold room. Wires were attached to my head. Not stuck on, but burrowed into my skull- attached to my brain. I looked around and saw I was surrounded by people- kids. Hundreds of them. And they were getting closer. I was paralyzed. Couldn't move, couldn't talk. But I could hear. I could hear all of them crying. It started as a whimper but grew to full on screaming. They circled around me, getting so close they could touch me. But their faces were still dark. The screaming was so loud that my brain started pulsing. The machine behind me attached to the wires was going off like a fire alarm. I felt a hand land on my shoulder and a breath on my neck, and despite all the crying, I heard a whisper in my ear. “Save them.”
So here I am. Here. Parking lot. Motel 6. Tuesday morning. Casey and Clark weren't particularly thrilled with my plan. In fact, they vehemently opposed it. But after my dream, I realized that the only way to end this was to face it head-on. To face the man on the tape. The voice behind the camera. Alone.
Casey and Clark came out of our motel room and walked over to the car window. “This is a horrible idea.” Clark said bluntly. “Your confidence is overwhelming, Clark. Tone it down a bit.” I said sarcastically. She leaned down and stuck her head in the window. Her eyes softened and she pursed her lips. “Just be careful, idiot,” she said and kissed me on the lips. I smiled and nodded as she hustled back into the motel room. “Good luck, kid.” Casey said popping his head into the open window. He was only two years older than me but it was clear he was much more mature. “I ain’t gonna kiss you but-… ah fuck it.” He grabbed my face and planted a big, long kiss on my cheek. We both burst out laughing. “Thanks man,” I said as our chuckles fizzled out. We exchanged nods and I put the car in drive. “Give ‘em hell!” I heard Casey yell as I pulled out.
Had I told them what I was actually going to do, they wouldn't have let me go. The directions to Relictio Inc. were taped to the dash in front of me. My heart rate began to rise with sun. The drive was around 2 hours from the twins house, and about 30 minutes from the motel, which was the closet thing for 50 miles in any direction. I had to pull over halfway there and throw up. I doubt it was from the cereal I ate that morning.
When my car finally pulled up in front of the metal gate a familiar voice came out of the intercom.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bourneo. We’re so happy you could make it.”
Part Three
submitted by drewwbydooby to nosleep

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